Never Coming Home
by Constance Greene
Summary: “You lose some, you lose some. That’s about all I’ve learned in my poor excuse for a long life.” — AxelRoxasOlette.


Whoa you guys. I forgot this fic even _existed_. I decided to work on it, trying to get my muse back ( writer's block is death I swear ), because it was the furthest thing I had done. So anyways, I hope you enjoy reading something from me again.

· dedicated to gray-rain skies.  
· · disclaimer kingdom hearts is not mine.

· · · pairings are roxas × olette and axel × roxas. and it's auish.

n ever coming h ome .

· × ▫ × ·

Memory: You came to me one summer's day like something out of a romantic Shakespearean poem, where the two young and destiny-driven protagonists fall in love at first sight. But that wasn't quite it. I wasn't instantaneously hit with a thought that you were The One, nor was I swooning at your striking blond hair as the girls around me did. Instead I felt like we had been friends from the start. I knew you; when your eyes made contact with mine, you knew me.

Hormone-saturated maidens weren't the only sub-group of intelligence surrounding me in the school parking lot. I use that term loosely. I remember: it makes you laugh. I was quietly standing in between two boys. You knew them, too, somehow. You knew them well.

Ergo, with an abundance of gibbering and guffawing teens that you could hardly classify as human, I noticed you. How could I not? You were sedated yet held a silent confidence at the same time, weighing to two out to equal elegant balance. Everyone else came last behind you. There were people before you that shuffled out of your way and were left to stare, stunned, in your wake. A golden-haired beauty had just past their way, and somehow they knew it. It just took a while for them to process.

Hayner and Pence, however, did not regard you with the same dumbstruck astonishment as the rest of our peers. They were absorbed in their game of marbles – something we played on the pavement when it was hot, when we had nothing else better to do. We really _didn't_, back then – before you came, Roxas.

A smooth, round glass marble the colour of red wine cocked between Hayner's thumb and forefinger as he squinted in concentration. The marble set sail – it glinted like a clear diamond in the sun, a thousand shards of rainbow colour that fell upon the grey ground and then disappeared. It didn't get anywhere close to its target, much to my friend's dismay. He set his mouth in a grimace, waving his hand back at me.

"Move out of the way a little, will you, Olette? You're casting a shadow."

I obediently scooted aside, my attention fixed on the new arrival.

"Hayner, you're just making excuses. That was totally your bad aim." Pence objected mildly, sitting back and strategizing his next move, shielding his eyes from the sun with the palm of his hand.

"Totally was _not_."

Here you come, striding and scuffling at the same time with your long legs, hidden by baggy beige pants. They still don't notice you, and I just blink. The sun is almost blinding, like your hair.

As you move closer, I see your eyes . . .

"This marble is jacked!" Hayner suddenly yelled behind me in frustration. If I glanced behind me, I would have seen him studying the pristine surface for chips that weren't there. He, in his panic, had lashed out for Pence's marble. It was green, like glass beer bottles.

Your eyes, they're nothing like the sun. They're big and expressive and dark sapphire like the ocean at night, the edges that creep away and are therefore untouched by the silvery moonlight. Lined by sooty eyelashes, you're every girl's dream and every guy's largest agitation.

I lowered my own gaze impulsively. I couldn't look at those eyes any longer; I felt trapped. Or maybe '_lost'_ was a better word.

"Hey, Olette, can I borrow your marble?"

I brushed the raindrop of gold to the side carelessly. "Go ahead," I think I muttered under my breath. I wasn't certain. I was too busy hiding from _you_, and that accusing gaze you had. What are you mad at? I thought. What's given you those lost eyes of drowning sorrow, boy?

"We have a visitor," I said quietly, and Hayner and Pence looked up.

Who was she?

Or he?

Who were _you_?

Pondering your tragic past and mysterious history was cut short as we prepared to greet you, a newcomer to this town, to this school, to this lot, to these people. How awkward we must have seemed to you, squatting there on the cement, burning in the summer's sun – but you have no idea how foreign you appeared to us. You were like a new species – Pence, the more polite one, looked on with interest, while Hayner's eyes glinted with hostile skepticism. Hollowness took over those brown eyes so that they could be filled with whatever you threw at him. He was tensed; prepared.

"Hi," Pence started off shyly, holding a marble between his thumb and forefinger.

"What, are you lost?" Snapped Hayner, and I winced.

I abruptly corrected him like a mother when her child acts misbehaved around a stranger. "Be nice, Hayner."

You stared at Hayner, your globes for eyes blank, but I read on your facial expression that you were puzzled by his brusque reaction. You could come up with no reasonable answer for this situation, so I quickly covered you up.

"He's just Hayner," I explained, the innocuous excuse. "My name's Olette."

"I'm Pence," Said boy piped up.

"What's your name?"

You hesitated. The corner of your lips curled upwards slightly in what could have been a ghost of a smirk; then, right after you stopped speaking, it stopped living.

". . Roxas."

"Well, _Roxas_. Isn't that fine and dandy."

"Hayner," I whispered harshly.

"Want to play marbles with us?" Asked Pence.

That glimpse of a smirk came back full-force, except this time, it was a soft smile that graced your pale lips. They curved into accepted delight, muted down as to not scare us with your brilliance that would certainly show if you handed us an angel's smile. We might not be able to stand the brightness, us mortals.

Uttered from your mouth was a simple compliance: "Sure."

That was the first time I saw you smile.

It wasn't the last time.

Not yet.

You sat down on your haunches with us, clad in grey and tan, the back of your over shirt flipping out to expose the hem of the one beneath it. And we played. You had to borrow one of my marbles since you didn't have any of your own on you – at first you were quiet, unsure and not fully emerged into the game. But then our laughter and cheers and appropriate curses submerged you into the fray, and you joined in after a time. That brightness seemed to radiate around you in an aura. Maybe it was the sunshine that warmed you up – or maybe it was us, your new friends.

Or maybe it was the simple time you spent, the break when you weren't dwelling on your past.

· · · × .

He lied flat-backed on bed, hands clutching the sides of his temples, his fingertips kneading into his spiky hair.

Daytime, no rest; except for today. Today he were incredibly grateful ( or was he? ) for that momentary distraction. It got his thoughts off of _him_, and for once, he didn't think his eyes were so broken.

Broken and bleeding blue ocean, the deepest darkest depths where the sharks lurked. The sharks of his dreams, they swam in like Bull sharks into a river mouth, interrupting his sleep. Not letting him sleep at all.

When he got home from his first day at school ( and what a _disaster_ that had been – until after school ), he checked in the mirror and examined his eyes. There was a flicker of the old Roxas in them, the happier Roxas, the optimistic blond-haired boy; but then it was gone in an instant, melting back into emptiness. Just like a flame that had been blown out by the whimsical wind.

_Her eyes. They remind me of _–

_The marbles –_

_The colour of his eyes._

Not the same shade, he told himself. They were both green, sure. But there were many shades of green. Emerald, evergreen, absinthe, sour apple, hazel, grass, jade, aquamarine, olive, malachite, lime, sea, viridian, vert ( _his seemed to reflect all of them_ ).

He stared up at the wall. Those eyes looked back at him.

"Go away," He grumbled, rolling onto his side. "Let me sleep for once."

_See ya, Axel._

_See ya, partner._

Such a short, casual goodbye. And he wasn't ever going to see him again, except when he haunted his sleep and he mistakes random passerby's with bright red hair and green eyes as him. Why did he, Roxas, run away at such short notice? Hopping from life to life, unhappy with all of them?

He was happy once. But he lost it, somehow; it slipped from his grasp as surely as though it was slick with Vaseline.

"_You lose some, you lose some, Roxas. That's about all I've learned in my poor excuse for a long life."_

"_Long life, sure. I can see the wrinkles from _here_."_

"_Hey, old men's feelings are tender. Be nice to your friend, why not?"_

"_If you'd just be nice to me for once—"_

"_This is nice. Isn't it?"_

"_. . Yeah. This is nice. Thanks, Axel."_

The vision of a sunset faded.

He figured he'd get out of school around 4:30, and on the walk home, sunset would arrive and swoop over him with colours of pastel pinks and flamboyant oranges.

Always reminded.

Forget it. Tomorrow, he was going to see his _real_ friends again, and the healing process would continue.

He didn't _need_ him.

He was throwing him away.

· · · × .

A month later, school let out. We spent our days hanging around the Usual Spot, a nook in one of the alleys they served as our official-yet-unofficial daytime abode, until we had to go back home to our normal lives. This meant dish-washing, scrubbing the floors like Cinderella, and sweeping our social lives away.

Sometimes you would come over claiming you're bored; remember? There you'd stay in my kitchen doorway, hands in your pockets and watching me bashfully. If I ever needed help, you'd be more than happy to lend it. Anything to get your mind off of whatever, or whoever, it was.

And then eventually Hayner and Pence would barge into the house before we were done, I'd pester them for not helping, they'd laze on the couch and grumble, and then we'd all parade out the door and into the sunshine, and into the old lot to play.

Other times, we'd go to the public pool a few blocks down and go swimming. I remember how you'd climb to the highest diving board, the sleek muscles on your lightly-tanned back distinct against the droplets of chlorinated water clinging to your body, and jump as precariously as a cliff-diver. You'd twirl in midair for a moment, appearing as though you were flying, and then splash gracefully into the water. You and Hayner would occasionally jump together: you two would stand there, bracing yourselves for the dive, and count.

"One . . ."

"Two . . ."

"Three!"

In a little less than unison, you two would cannon-ball into the cerulean waters fifteen feet below. Pence and I both joked about the splash being a tsunami, either bobbing in the water and waiting for our two brave and daring heroes to return from their dive, or basking in the sun on the sidelines, sipping juices through straws. People walking or lying around the pool would complain about the droplets of water they got splashed upon them in the meanwhile – they soon learned to turn and hold their towels up as a barrier whenever you and Hayner did a double-jump.

We spent a large majority of the summer there. It was probably because Seifer and his gang were as repellent to water as felines, so we were never bothered.

· · · × .

Roxas never expected to gain an enemy in Twilight Town, but that was not to say that he hadn't at least once dreaded it. In the back of his mind, there was a place where he cringed away from aggressive people – and then promptly reverted to offensive stance against them. This time, his anger could not be contained within the confinements of his self-restraint.

At first, the sound of him dribbling a basketball rung in his ears at a rapid pace, drilling out notes of summer freedom from the gravel concrete. It was the only thing he heard, besides the steady beat of Pence's great orange ball and the slight metallic rattle whenever Hayner hit the steel basket while trying to shoot hoops. Olette was positioned behind this lazy commotion, the hot summer heat nearly sizzling up from her fair skin, licking a bar of sea-salt ice cream and watching the boys play idly. Roxas caught sight of the droplets of moisture on that bar of cream and ice, and wished that he could have a taste.

Then there is the sudden swaggering of boots scuffing the hard ground, and he looked up, his cobalt eyes alert. There was a tall, well-built boy with a beanie on, flanked by a rather sour-looking girl and a vacant, equally buff, male.

He heard beside him the hiss as Hayner's breath is released; he stopped tossing the basketball to focus his glaring attention on the new arrivals.

"_Seifer_," He growled out of the corner of his mouth.

Roxas swung his head back to the now named individual, tilting it delicately to the side with curiosity. So, this was the infamous Seifer his gang ceaselessly talked about.

"Hello, Blondie," Came the jeer from his sneering lips, curled and raised in a slight smirk.

Before Hayner could even react, Roxas felt his hand clench into a fist, and took a deliberate step forward, nearly lunging at the ( equally blond ) boy.

"Don't call him that!"

It appeared to be the first time Seifer noticed the new addition to the Twilight Town gang. His crystal blue eyes flicked in his direction, and Roxas instinctively took a step back. They were the eyes of a rattlesnake, poised and ready to strike. Maybe standing up against this imposing force of town wasn't such a good idea; he mentally scolded and regretted his impulses.

"Well isn't this _ro-mantic. _Two yellow-headed numbskulls, one standing up for the other." He put his hands on his waist self-righteously, like a king conquering his land. The girl behind him made a small noise that could have been a snort or a giggle, her short-cropped silver hair fraying slightly. The other boy said something along the lines of "Yeah, y'know?" in support.

"Roxas, are you out of your mind?" Hayner growled from out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm . . . just . . ." He faltered, biting off his words with his teeth, grinding together and rendering speech as useless.

The leader of the rival gang, "I can call Blondie here whatever I want. What's he gonna do about it, huh? Go miniature terrier on me? What are _you_ going to do about it, you nub?"

Roxas searched for a reason, one that was lurking in the very back of his head, and he reached for it even though darkness wrapped around his trespassing fingers like claws.

"Because . . ." _Because _he_ calls me that_.

"_Hey, Blondie!"_

"_That's not my name!"_

"_You responded to it, didn't you?"_

· · · × .

"Baby, baby. Cat got your tongue? Nehhh?"

"Come on, Roxas." I tugged insistently at your sleeve, but you did not budge. "Let's go. Forget about these _jerks_."

I shot the last word out with a fierceness that surprised even me. Unfortunately, it only made Seifer and co. laugh.

I could feel you shaking beneath my hand. I raised my eyes to you and saw that your own were far away, looking right through the bully. Who was the spectre that you saw, translucent behind him? I bit my lip and pulled you backward to where Pence had already retreated.

"Don't mess with us again!" Hayner's voice wavered through the stifling summer air, the declaration upholding a strange emptiness. The only thing I was sure of that echoed through the lot was the mocking laughter of Seifer and his cronies.

Summer was nearing its end. The season meant for ice cream and tanning and throwing beach balls over high-strung nets above a sandy expanse was slipping away with time. There were only seven days left, a precious week that would soon lose its virginity to the upcoming school year.

"Man, I'm _tired _of this same-old crap we've been doing every day. Summer's almost over. We haven't even gone to the _beach_ yet!"

"Whose fault is that?" You muttered out of the corner of your mouth, lips twisted upwards in a slight grin, and I seemed to be struck by you and your abstruse way of saying things – or not saying things.

"Roxas," Hayner stood up, tipsy on the couch's edge. "We need to show you the beach. It's great."

"It's _excellent_," Exclaimed Pence, as though it was a secret haven for only us to share, just like our Usual Spot – only far more grandiose.

"It's _superb_," I joined in, supporting the hype. I knew that we still had homework to do, but the excitement to show you the endless sea of water was far more urgent in our minds.

"Sounds cool." On the end of your seat, you seemed to vibrate with anticipation, and I wondered if you had ever even seen a large body of water before.

"Did you know," Hayner began in his usual over-dramatic 'Can you believe it?' voice, "that they make sea-salt ice cream _right from _the sea?"

Pence laughed. "Naww, Hayner. That's why they call it _sea-salt_ ice cream."

"No!" He snapped. "I mean it. They put the popsicle stick in there at night when it's cooled down and all, and out comes a bar of ice cream!"

"Hayner, I do believe that you're talking out of your ass," Pence drawled.

"Think what you want. But it's true—"

"Who did you hear this from, Hayner?" You asked jokingly.

He shuffled his feet a bit. "Uh, I overheard Rai telling Fuu about it—"

"Oh, God." You said, and everyone broke into collective laughter – even Hayner, after a few seconds of fuming.

But we never did go to the beach. The day we were planning to go, four days before summer's end, there was an accident.

· · · × .

He was dreaming.

Blessed nonsense filled his semiconscious mind, the dreamstate scholars so talked about when you were not sleeping deeply, but rather on the verge of being woken up. That was the time when your mind was at work the most, doing things separate to resting. He was dreaming about penguins sliding across the Antarctic surface, slipping into the icy-cold water of the ocean, not cerulean-aquamarine like he had imagined it _(dreamed),_ but a churning, deep turquoise and muddy blue colour.

But what they didn't know was that they were diving directly into the gaping maw of a leopard seal. The beast of dappled fur gobbled them down, one by one, sometimes two or three at a time, no time for munching. It just swallowed them whole, and yet blood still filled the water around it, wafting like spoiled incense in some kind of unholy ritual.

The pigment bled out the rest of the blue colour in the water, becoming a deeper darker shade of red at every instant. So much red hurt his eyes. It was tattooed on the backs of his eyelids, and even in his sleep he inhaled the deep musk of smoke and passion.

He awoke – or seemed to – in a jolt. The thrashed sheets of his bed were telltale signs that he had been trembling in his sleep, and the heaviness of his bladder also alerted him that he was just that close to wetting the bed like a two year-old.

So much red . . . He closed his eyes and tried breathing. The shaky air, still smelling faintly of ash, filled his lungs, penetrating them with acrid unwanted scents. He coughed into his curled fist, laying back down in his bed and groaning.

Roxas traced the hairline cracks in his ceiling, attempting to clear his mind. Shadows danced across the pseudo sky, patterns of darkness created by the wings of his fan turning idly in a circle.

When the throbbing in his crotch grew to be too much to ignore, he got up wearily from the containment of his bed-throne and moved like a sleepwalker into his adjacent bathroom. However, only when he stood over the toilet did he notice he was hard.

The smell of smoke grew stronger, nearly knocking him backwards. His eyes cinched tight, he saw that the red was burnt near the bottom, fading into darkness . . .

_'Kid, that wasn't no I-Have-To-Go-Wee-During-The-Middle-of-The-Night. That was _desire_.'_

"Shut up. Just shut up, will you? Get out of my head."

But right now he _did_ desire something. He looked into the mirror and almost saw him standing there behind him, in the doorway. Arms folded over his chest and leaning against the supporting doorframe like he usually did.

Then the redness filled his vision again – this time it was in the mirror. No longer could he see his reflection or the ghost's. There was texture, rough strands of _(red)_ hair against his face, stabbing it again and again, and he recognized the other scents – leather and cinnamon and something vaguely berry-like that was the smell of his hair gel and sweat and that ever-burning _desire_. There were hands clad in that sensual black material beneath his shirt and he arched his back, climaxing—

And then Roxas awoke from the nightmare, fisting his hand and throwing it into the mirror's gaze. The glass shattered, pieces falling like a waterfall of ice entwined with red blood that ran in small rivers down to the sink and collected around its bottom.

No one noticed his bandaged hand the next day when he went to the hospital to visit Hayner.

· · · × .

"How is he?"

I heard your voice outside the door after I knew it was you.

"He'll be fine. He suffered a mild concussion and was out for a while. Since he's woken up, all he's done is moan about how he's dying."

I heard you thank the nurse quietly and politely, the way you always spoke to adults, and knocked gently on the door. Pence opened it from his spot against the closest wall.

"Hey . . . what'd you _do_?" You took a seat in the chair beside his hospital bed. Hayner was too busy groaning about his impeding death, so I explained.

"He and Pence were playing ball last night. Pence threw; the basketball hit the ring and bounced back to Hayner. It hit his head and he fell back, dashing his head on the ground. We didn't call you because it was late and I figured you were asleep."

"I nearly _died_," Hayner complained.

"I thought you were still dying?" You asked.

"I _am_."

"A dying man doesn't complain that much, you know."

"What do you know, Pence? Except for knocking people out, that is."

"I told you; it wasn't my fault."

"Oh, yeah yeah, and the ring just wanted to get me, did it?"

Pence shrugged. "Maybe it was possessed."

You glanced at Hayner's bandaged forehead. "Was it really as bad as he makes out?"

I shook my head lightly. "There was a lot of blood. It was like a screen of red. But the nurse said that head wounds bleed the most profoundly."

I was too busy thinking back on the incident to recall how you froze when I mentioned the blood. Or perhaps it was the poetical 'like a screen of red' sentence that caught you off-guard.

Meanwhile, the two were still arguing.

"You beast."

"You light-weight."

"When will he be out?"

"The nurse says he should stay for another two days."

"That's . . ."

I nodded. "No time for the beach."

Pence groaned, you frowned. "Sorry, you guys," Hayner apologized.

"It's okay," You said as you began to stand up. "We'll work something out. It's not like I'm leaving next summer." You wore a tight smile when you said this. I think you doubted yourself on this statement.

· · · × .

_"We didn't call you because it was late and I figured you were asleep." _

Roxas toyed around with what Olette had said, hoping it wasn't too late now.

He slipped his cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed. It rang four times before the person he was calling finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Olette; did I wake you?"

"Mm . . . if I said yes, would it disappoint you?"

He chuckled quietly into the receiver. "Can you meet me at the Lot in five minutes?"

"What? Why?" It sounded like she was already fumbling for her clothes. "Um . . . sure."

"'Kay. Olette?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

He hung up and walked out of his bedroom, hopping down the stairs and ceased listening to the snoring of his parents as he shut the door to the outside behind him.

Four minutes later, Olette jogged up to the Lot. Roxas was sitting down on the edge of the stage hauled in by the gamekeepers earlier this morning for the upcoming Struggle Tournament. He stood up as the brunette arrived.

"So? What do you want to talk about?"

"Talk about?" He feigned innocence.

Olette put her hands on her hips as surely as a mother who knew something was going on. "You've been acting strange lately. I know something's up."

"Well . . . maybe you'll think this is strange. But. Follow me."

"What?" She stared after him as he began to slowly walk out of the rectangular lot.

"Follow me." He repeated quietly, barely looking over his shoulder while he said it.

They walked for another five minutes, hardly saying anything. Olette's questions went unanswered, so she soon gave up. The path they were taking began to look familiar, and she raised her brow in inquiry.

"Are we going to the park?"

"Nope."

She furrowed her brow, nibbling on soft inside of her lower lip as though wondering how she could have possibly gotten it wrong. Roxas wondered what it would be like to feel that velvet skin, caress her girl's mouth with his own pouty lips. He hated his lips – they were indeed the lips of a girl, but that didn't mean he had ever tasted the mouth of one.

_"You've got such girly lips, Roxas."_

_"Shut up. You . . . you don't have hardly any lips." He stuck out his tongue and there was a laugh that died down just as quickly as it began._

_"I want to kiss them."_

_"I . . . I think I'll let you."_

He shivered slightly, but it went unnoticed by his companion. Finally, they reached a barred fence that was easily just over four feet tall. There was a small gasp.

"The pool?"

"How about a little night swim, Olette?"

"I . . . I didn't bring a bathing suit. If I had known—" A slight blush rose to her cheeks, feeling devastatingly unprepared.

He laughed. "You don't need one. Now c'mon."

"Roxas," She whispered as he swung one leg over the fence. "You can't just go in there! That's breaking in!"

"No one's going to _know _unless we drown or something. So . . . just don't drown."

He landed on the other side. Her hands clutched the railing, biting her lip nervously. Roxas turned back and quirked a brow.

"If you hang out with Hayner, you should be used to this stuff."

"Yes, but Hayner's always _wrong._" _And we're not in Seifer's gang, either._

He smiled. She raised her hand to her mouth and tried to stifle a giggle that threatened to rise in her throat. He began to laugh too, and soon they were both laughing, the joyous chords echoing into the night and flooding over the cricket's humming.

"_Shh_, someone will hear us. C'mon, Olette. Take my hand."

He held out his hand – big – for her to grab hold of and help her over the fence. She hesitated a moment, and then placed her smaller one into his large one. He hoisted her up over the side, and she felt her sandal nearly slip off her foot, the heel being exposed to the cool night air, naked flesh in the moonlight.

This freedom overwhelmed her. She always went by the rules, and now she was entering a public place that was closed for the night. She had heard of some people sneaking in at night, but they were usually caught. But now, with Roxas, she felt safe, and somehow doubted if anyone would even hear a whisper from them.

She kicked off her flip-flops and Roxas did the same. They padded together across the plush grass that tingled their bare feet with each springy fiber.

He led her to the pool and the strong scent of chlorine hit her, hard. She had never been to the pool just after it was cleaned and replenished with chemicals. It made her feel slightly nauseated and somewhat unreal.

The moment she dipped her foot into the water, stricken by moonlight, she felt the temperature difference. It was remotely cooler during the nighttime than during the day when the sun was burning bright.

She looked over at Roxas and was mildly surprised to see him taking off his clothes. The fabric of his shirt went over his head with ease, baring his sinewy back that glowed gently in the moon's light. He stripped down to his boxers; in the meanwhile, she glanced down at her own clothes. Unwilling to get them wet, she undressed as well, right down to her bra and panties.

The water swayed and rippled around them, thick and quicksilver in the darkness. They floated towards the center of the pool, two synchronized swimmers, their movements dreamy and swan-like. The water reached the area around their chests. She curled her toes, grating them against the cement bottom.

"I know you really wanted to go to the beach. But, erm, this is the best I could do." He felt awkward now that they were both half-naked, his eyes trying to play keep-away from her small breasts.

"There'll be other times; you know that, Roxas." She slipped suddenly on one foot, drifting backwards and wetting the tips of her wavy hair.

"But I wanted to do it _now_," He insisted, an edge of anger to his voice. "Don't I . . . don't I even get a thank you?"

A smile sweetly crossed her lips. "Thank you, Roxas. It's really nice of you. Really nice."

"You make me feel . . ."

_"You make me feel like how I should be. You make me feel _real_."_

"_Real? That's funny, because you make me feel . . . the same . . ."_

"Different," He finished. "Better."

She shuddered slightly at the far-off way he gazed into the water. "How did you feel before?"

"Like a nobody. A loser. Someone who was never good enough."

"Was there something . . . that happened? Something . . ."

"There was nothing."

A frown tugged at her lips. "But there _had _to be something—"

Strangely enough, he smiled. It disturbed her even greater. "Literally. There was _nothing_."

And then, unable to contain herself any longer, she blurted out, "Who was she?"

"She?" A puzzled look crossed his face.

"Someone must have done something to you to make you that way . . . Someone must have hurt you, or left you . . ."

"Nope. Nobody. I was just always like that." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"How can you be so _avoidant_ to this?" She cried. "I'm your friend, Roxas. You can tell me things."

He took a deep breath and looked up towards the sky. Then he looked back at his friend.

"I l . . ."

_"I love you."_

_"I know."_

_"Then can you understand why I'm leaving?"_

_"Hell no. You're confusing the living shit out of me."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"You don't mean that."_

_"I guess I don't really love you then, either?"_

_"No; I know you mean that."_

"I'll race you!"

There was the swishing of water as he tore through it, swimming towards the opposing end of the pool. Olette stood there, the look of utter confusion plastered upon her milky-white face, but before he could get too far she sighed and dove after him.

"You're doing it again!" She cried over the waves they were creating as they vigorously swam towards the finish line.

"Doing what?"

"Avoiding!" Water droplets flew into her eyes, stinging them.

"If you catch me, I'll stop!"

She smirked. She was the fastest swimmer out of all four of them – even with his head start, she could still win.

It only took fifteen seconds later when she was at his heels. Her furious arm strokes continued for another two seconds until she was finally by his side, just yards away from the pool's edge, and wrapped herself around his torso. He flailed for a moment, and then sunk into her arms. She wasn't fooled; she knew that the drops of water that were quickly dotting her forearms weren't from the chlorinated pool water, but the tears that fell from his eyes.

"Oh, Roxas," She sighed, resting her chin against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I've been acting so strange," He managed to choke out.

"It's fine." She patted his back what she hoped to be comfortingly, feeling its slippery smoothness against her skin.

Suddenly, he turned and slid from her grasp to face her, cupping her chin. Before he hardly knew what he was doing, he was kissing her.

Heat rushed from his lips, warming hers up ( which had begun to turn blue because of the frigid water ). His hands moved to the sides of her face, his lips moving over hers with a passion he didn't know existed inside him. At first she struggled, but then gave in and kissed him back, but it wasn't the same. It didn't match his force, his need.

She realized that he wasn't just kissing her. He was kissing the other person that he wouldn't talk about. Olette knew that he regarded her like a friend, an equal – all though the kiss was nothing short of enjoyable, if he felt anything else for her but friendship, it was an admirable crush. Nothing more. There was no attraction but the curious glances at her yellow bra and perhaps her eyes, which she oftentimes found him staring directly at. He loved her as a person, respected her, but did not love her like a lover.

He pulled away as soon as it was over. She blinked.

"That was either a lot of pent-up feelings or a very long and final goodbye."

Roxas licked his lips. "What . . . what makes you think that?"

Olette shook her head. "Nothing."

"Will you remember me?"

His sapphire eyes were pleading. Her stomach churned, and she realized it was both of the above.

"Of course I'll remember you. I'll never forget you."

"G . . ."

_(goodbye)_

"Great to have you as a friend, Olette."

She merely dipped her head in acknowledgement for what he said.

· · · × .

They slipped into their clothes as quickly as they had gotten out of them, and they molded onto their forms like a second skin. Olette wrapped her arms around her chest, wishing she had worn something other than a tank-top.

Juggling with his pants, Roxas reached into one of his pockets and curled his hand around whatever he had pulled out.

"I want you to have this."

Olette let it fall into the palm of her hand. She scrutinized it in the dimness.

"A marble?"

He nodded solemnly. She looked at it closer. It was blue, just like his eyes.

"You're giving it back."

Another nod.

"That's funny. Because I want you to have _this_."

She dug into her own pocket and pulled out her yellow marble. He hesitated.

"I – I can't—"

She curled my fingers around his own, closing his hand into a fist. "Yes. You can. Because I want you to remember, too."

Roxas pursed his lips. After what seemed like serious contemplation, he planted the sun drop in the world of darkness into his pocket, tucking it away safely.

They said nothing more that evening. They walked their separate ways, and neither Olette nor Roxas looked back at one another to see where they were heading.

· · · × .

"What's that you got there?"

Roxas's one leg swung over the side of the tower at a steady, unnoticed beat. The redhead frowned, wondering how he could be so happy when it was their last _real _day together in this alternate universe. But the blond had a tendency to hide things, especially his feelings. He would even argue that they didn't exist, although there was proof and he knew better.

The proof was between them.

"A marble. I found it." He tossed it up into the air once more, and it glinted in the dying sun's rays.

"Oh really?"

". . Okay, I stole it from some kid." He laughed.

"How evil of you, Roxas. Like the Organization needs more of that."

His lips quivered in silent thought. "The Organization isn't really evil. Evil is an emotion, right? Besides, we don't work for the Darkness."

"No. We hail the Nothingness." The man reclined back onto his elbows. "What a joke this 'life' is."

Roxas tossed the marble again.

"Y'know, you're gonna lose that."

"Ehh, I don't think so." A small smile crept onto his lips, making him look years older and wiser, like a man that knew things. It made Axel feel somewhat frustrated and mystified at the same time.

"They say if you look through coloured glass, you see the world differently."

"Hm? Really?" He held it up for inspection. Axel was right; the view from the top of Twilight Town's tower was now filtered in a midnight blue. It looked somewhat melancholy, in his opinion. Like he was just looking through his own eyes.

"You ready to go back to the Superior?" Axel stood up, and his eyes were set of him, anticipating his next move.

"To the Castle That Never Was? Pffft." Roxas dismissed this, closing his eyes. "I've got something better."

He pulled two bars of ice cream out from the alcove behind him. He handed one to his friend.

"What's this?" Axel eyed it skeptically, as though it was covered in a layer of venom.

"They call it sea-salt ice cream. It's pretty good, actually. Try it."

"Huh." He reluctantly sat back down. "Only if you feed it to me."

He had been joking, but at that moment, Roxas slid his body over and licked around the older man's lips. His knee dug into his thigh, edging closer to his crotch.

"Whoa, there. What's gotten into you, Rox?" Axel tried to pull back, even though he really didn't want to.

To his surprise, a tear rolled down the boy's cheek. "I don't want to go back."

For the past few months, the thought of continuing living in The World That Never Was, acting as the devil's advocate, had greatly upset Roxas. He, the wielder of Light, was in no place for what Xemnas had in store for them. Axel thought that someday he might even lose him. The suffering was too much to bear for the boy, and it drained all the energy out of his friend as well.

Axel wrapped his arms around him in an embrace. "Hey," He cooed into his ear. "Hey, it'll be okay. I'm here. Okay? I'm here." He hoped these words were reassuring.

"But you're _not_," Roxas sobbed into his shoulder, "You're not."

· · · × .

The beach is beautiful.

I sit between Hayner and Pence in colourful beach chairs atop tropical towels laid out across the sand. Soon I can no longer hold them within the confines of the shore – they will want to run down to the water and splash and play.

I wish you could see it, Roxas. It really is a relaxing sight.

It's been a year since you left. I don't know where you've gone, but I know you're not coming back. I knew that from the kiss. You passed along your spirit of warmth onto us, and now we must live with ourselves and try to be content.

Hayner won the recent Struggle Tournament. I know you two promised to fight together last summer, but things came up.

They always do, don't they?

Things happen. Accidents. Terrible things. We change our minds on a whim. Plans are broken and forgotten, as lost as shards of glass washed away by the tide.

And sometimes, things happen that are for the better; things that are for our own good.

Their memories are beginning to fade, and I have a feeling that it's something to do with you. They still remember some collective memories, but struggle to find the right name to place them with.

But I remember. I'll always remember.

The beach is still here, waiting for your mythological return.

And so am I.

· · · × .

He never told anyone about the dreams. In them there was an island surrounded by a beach. The sands were never tainted by darkness or twilight. They were light and beautiful in their smooth paleness.

He would always see three children at play down by the water. A redhead girl, a silver-haired boy, and a boy with spikes that looked familiar; he just couldn't place him.

He wanted to find those people and be with them. He had already tried to fit in with various groups of people before, and all of them were wrong. But something about these three felt so _right_.

He lifted the marble up to his eye and peeked through it. Rays of gold came from all different angles, bathing the scene with light. But colour other than this pigment bled through – red that stood up in an unusual, stylistic way, and green eyes like the summer.

He smiled and continued walking toward his destiny.


End file.
